


Cry

by Snelly_ESQ



Category: The Secret of NIMH (1982)
Genre: Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snelly_ESQ/pseuds/Snelly_ESQ
Summary: Timothy has been through many trials in his life, but one of the greatest trials of all, loss, is still a mystery to him. With help from his mother, and his siblings, he tries to navigate through death, and how to express his uncertainty and pain.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Cry

The sun was hidden behind thick clouds, as the cool autumn wind sent small specks of cold air through the brisby home. 

It was a Sunday. 

Timothy wore a white tunic and brown trousers, sitting by his mother’s side and hugging her gently as he set a bowl on her nightstand. 

“It’s still warm.”

“I know, sweetie.” She smiled meekly up at him, and ate. “It’s nice.” 

“Thanks.” He looked out on the morning mist, as people began to file out from the church. Despite the close walk from the family home to the church, he was never particularly religious, and most of his time these days was spent with his mom, anyway, taking care of her. 

Not that he would be taking care of her much longer. 

“Are you feeling any better today?” 

Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m afraid at this point, it’s not supposed to start feeling better.” She continued eating, slowly. “You see Teresa out there?” She strained her neck to see, but Timothy quickly turned so she wouldn’t have to. 

“I think I see her, she’s talking to people at the door.” He said. He looked down and sighed a bit to himself, seeing someone in the congregation leaving. 

“I know you miss going on those walks, Timmy. I know you and that girl w-”

“It’s not that.”

“You could’ve hired someone to take care of me, y’know.” 

“ _ Mom. _ ” He sounded stern. “I’m not upset for having to take care of you, I never was.” 

“It did put quite a damper on your plans, though, didn’t it?” 

“Not everything is about me, mom. You saved my life. The best I can do is…” he sniffled, before she finished the sentence for him. 

“The best you can do is to help me end mine, I know.” She put the bowl of soup on the nightstand, and hugged him softly. 

“I’m sorry if I sounded cross, I really didn’t mean to, I-”

“Timothy,” She smiled up at him, “The most painful thing about your father’s death is that I never got a chance to say goodbye. But...I’ve said goodbye to so many people in the past few years, that I know it’s more complicated than I could have imagined.” She struggled to sit up, and Timothy grabbed her pillow and placed it behind her head for her. 

“I know it’s hard.” She said. She held his hand. “And there’s not much I can do to change how hard it is. The only real thing to do is...cry.” 

Timothy sat in a chair by the bed, and held her hand. “You know how I feel about having to cry.”

“I never understood what you didn’t like about crying.”

“Well, I suppose it made me feel like I was burdening people.” He said. “I just...I never liked to be a burden.” 

“Tears are only a burden for the one who’s crying, Timothy.” She said. “A cry for help weighs an awful lot to the person crying, but the person who needs to answer it can carry it a mile.” She looked him in the eye, her own eyes becoming wet. “If you need to cry, I won’t ever stop you.” She put the now empty bowl back on the nightstand. Timothy blinked a bit, and his eyes became classy and wet, before…

* * *

A knock on the door. 

“I’ll get it.”

“Can’t see how  _ I  _ would.” Elizabeth joked a bit. 

Timothy opened the door. 

“Morning, Timmy.” It was Teresa, in a much simpler vestment of a black cassock and collar. She had dressed down, clearly, from the service. She smiled, and still had her pink bow, albeit much smaller, in her hair. 

“Morning. How was it?”

“Not awful. We have a funeral later in the week, so that will be…” She looked through the house, “that’ll be something to think about.” She shuffled slowly in. “I’ve brought some things.” She smiled. “Just a loaf of bread, and some vegetables, something to keep her going a bit.” 

“Thanks, she’ll appreciate it.” 

“...how is she?” Teresa’s tone changed. She’d been trying, so hard, to come more often, but it’s a busy job, and she’s got so many people to look after now. But this is her  _ mother _ . 

“She’s fine. She’ll be glad to see you.” 

Teresa walked into the room. “Mom?”

“Well, Reverend Teresa Brisby, come in.” Elizabeth smiled and put her arms out for a hug. 

“Hey, mom...been a year since I got the title.”

“Well,  _ I  _ still enjoy hearing it. All grown up now.” Elizabeth kissed Teresa’s cheek, and she heard Timothy come in. “Timmy, you can fetch her a chair, can’t you? She’s been standing all day, I’d imagine.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Teresa said. It was clear she was trying to hold something back, but...Elizabeth didn’t say anything about it for now. 

“If you say so.” 

“So, did you hear about Martin?”

“Hmm? He never writes, really...I don’t hear from him often.” 

“He’s in town!” Teresa said. “He’s coming back to help someone with a building project.” She pointed out the window. “They’re putting up a house somewhere in that clearing, and he’s helped to design it. It’s not huge, but it’s nice. Cute little thing, I’ve seen what he wants it to look like.”

“Well...I’m sure it’ll be nice. I’d love to see him.” 

Another knock on the door, and this time, Teresa got it. After a bit of muffled conversation in the other room, a big man in a red button up shirt and work pants came in. “Timmy!” Martin hugged the smaller man tight, patting his back hard. “It’s good to see you!”

“Hey, Martin.” Timothy smiled and patted his back, as well. 

“Mom…” Martin hugged her, and kissed her forehead. “You look great for your age, I dunno what we’re all so worried about.” Martin said. Timothy didn’t find it too funny, but Elizabeth just smiled and nodded. 

“Well, I don’t feel my age, that’s certain…”

“I figured...so, it-”

“Spread, yes.” She spoke the words as if they meant nothing, as if they didn’t mean much more than a cold or the flu. 

“I...I didn’t realize.”

“I could have done better to tell you all, I’m sorry.” 

“Timmy’s been taking good care of you, though, hasn’t he?” 

“I’ve been doing my best.” Timothy said. He smiled up at the others. 

“I, uh...I brought you some wine, but-” Martin pulled out a bottle, and looked down. “I didn’t realize it was...that bad.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” She took the wine, and put it on the nightstand. “I’m glad you got it for me, genuinely, I am.” Her withering hands patted Martin’s. “Again, I need you all to know, it was all so sudden, I just didn’t have much of a way to tell you all. Timothy found out first since he lives next door.” 

The pair of siblings looked at Timothy, whose ears drooped and whose eyes followed, aiming squarely at his shoes, to give him something to look at. 

“I…” He shook his head. “I have to clean the kitchen a bit.” Timothy kissed Elizabeth’s ear and walked out of the room. He headed for the kitchen. 

* * *

Just then, another knock on the door. He opened it. 

“Cynthia?” 

“I heard about Mom through the grapevine...what’s been going on?” Cynthia wore a gray, cable knit sweater. She must’ve picked it up out west. She looked around the familiar dwelling, as Timothy moved back to find something,  _ anything,  _ to clean, to escape. 

“It, uhm…” He leaned on the counter, after he finished hastily tying an apron. “It spread. It spread to her lungs.” His voice was choking up. The normally reserved, quiet young man was trying to speak louder and louder to keep his voice from failing. “It was Meta….metastatic…”

“Metastatic Sarcoma.” Cynthia inferred this from what she knew of the illness. “It’s not usually liveable.”

“...the doctor gave her a few months. That was a month and some change ago.” He said. He rubbed his eyes, and put his face in his hands. The commotion attracted the other two siblings, who left the door to Elizabeth’s room open.

“Timothy...you’ve been taking care of her since then?” She asked. “Alone?”

“I-I mean, you were away studying, and Teresa had just gotten work as a pastor, and Martin’s always been distant since he moved away.” He didn’t sound angry with anyone, he just sounded defeated. “I just figured there wasn’t anybody else.”

“Timmy, buddy…” She hugged him softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for that.” 

“Don’t apologize. And don’t let anyone else in the family apologize. You all had things to do, and dreams to follow, and promises to keep.” 

“Your dreams weren’t important?” Teresa asked.

“I...I’m still trying to figure out what I even want to do with myself.” Timothy undid the apron. “Besides, it’s not as if I was doing much at the time. I just-”

“Timothy, I know you feel like you owe us the world, but you really don’t.” Martin said. “I understand why you’d feel that way. But Timmy...your life is important, too.”

Timothy blinked a few times, trying to stop tears. “Martin…”

“I’m sorry we weren’t here earlier.” Cynthia said.

“Don’t be sorry for anything.” A meager voice spoke from down the hallway. 

Elizabeth walked, shakily, out of the room. Timothy rushed over to help her. Teresa did, too. She sat in a chair in the living room, and smiled. 

“You don’t need to prove your love to me by coming at the drop of a hat. I’ve had all my life to learn how much you all loved me.” Elizabeth’s voice was weaker, and she looked frail, and thin. But the message rang true to all of them. “I don’t want anyone to feel like they did less or more than anyone else. You all did the best thing you could have done for me by being my children, and bearing with me all those years.” 

The 4 of them grouped together, and hugged each other as tight as they could, though, they were careful about Elizabeth. 

* * *

The day went on; stories about seminary, architecture, the new school further west of the valley...but eventually, the day winded down, people said their goodbyes, promised to visit again soon, and left. The two of them were alone again, just Timothy, and Elizabeth. Timothy started a fire in the fireplace. “It should go for the night.”

“Thanks, Timmy.” Elizabeth said. “I appreciate it. And everything else you’ve done.”

“You saved all of us.” He said. He smiled weakly. “It’s the least I can do.” Timothy looked out the window of her bedroom before kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna be back in the morning, okay?”

“You know, I...think you’ve done enough.” Elizabeth said. “You’ve surely got something else you want to do.”

“Mom,”

“ _ Timothy Brisby.  _ You have done all you can for me. And I genuinely thank you for it.” She sat up. “But we all need to take breaks.” 

“I just...I don’t know how I can let out all of this.”

“Let out all of what?”

“These feelings I have!” He said. “You’re the most important person in my life, and I can’t do anything to save you, or keep you here longer, o-or-”

“You’re supposed to cry, dear.” She held his hand. “Everyone cries.” 

He sat there, silently, for a minute or so. He just….didn’t know what to do, other than-

Cry. He wept, sobbing into her shoulder. He wasn’t loud, but it was clear he had a lot of crying to get done. Almost years worth. He cried, and cried, and cried. 

“...I wish you didn’t have to go.” He mumbled. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go, too.” She said, her own tears streaming. “But Timothy, it’s all a part of life. And there’s nothing to be done about it but to remember the goodness of life, and cry about the pain of death.”

“I love you, Mom.” 

“I love you too.” 

“I might just...visit in the morning.” Timothy sniffled in. 

“I’ll be right here for you.” Elizabeth said. “I’ll see you then. Goodnight, dear.”

“... ‘night, mom.” 

Timothy left, and opened the door to his home. He walked slowly to his bedroom, and tried to get some sleep. It came a lot easier to him this time. 

Maybe the crying had done him some good.


End file.
